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that warble as ye

Fountains, and

flow Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds, That singing up to heav'n's gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes bis praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ; Witness if I be filent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain, or freth shade Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise. Hail, UNIVERSAL Lord ! be bounteous Nill To give us only good ; and if the night Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. MILTON.




Ode to Content.
THOV; the nymph with placid eye !
feldom found, yet ever nigh !

Receive my temperate vow :
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon foul,

And smooth th' unalter'd brow..
come, in fimplest veft array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd,.

To bless my longing fight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace

And chalte subdu'd delight:
No more by varying paffions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet

To find thy hermit cell ;
Where in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,

The modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity in attic veft,
And innocence with candid breast,

And clear undaunted eye ;

And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning through this vale of tears,

A vilta to the sky.
There Health thro' whose calm bofom glide
The temperate joys, in even tide,

That yarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy lifter meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek,

To meet the offer'd blow.
Her infuence taught the Phrygian lage
A tyrant master's wanton rage,

With fettled smiles to meet :
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,

And kiss'd thy fainted feet.
But thou, O nymph, retir'd and coy"!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale ;
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose and voilet blossom round,

And lily of the vale.
fay what soft propitious hour
I beit may choose to hail thy power,

And court thy gentle sway! When autumn, friendly to the muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuses

And shed thy milder day? When eve, her dewy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,

And ev'ry form is laid ?
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy foothing voice,
Low whisp'ring through the shade. BARBAULD,

The Shepherd and the Philofopher.
Remote from cities liv'd a swain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain :
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage ;
In fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the folds
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew :

· His' wisdom and his honelt fame
Through all the country rais'd his name.

A deep philosopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.

“Whence is thy learning ? Hath thy toil
O'er books consum's the midnight oil ?
Halt thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast fenfe of Plato weigh'd ?
Hath Socrates thy soul refin’d,
And halt thou fathom'd Tully's mind ?-
Or like the wise Ulysses, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Halt thou through many cities Itray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd ?".

The thepherd modely reply'd,
“ I ne'er the paths of learning try'd ;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts ;
For man is practis'd in disguise,
He cheats the most discerning eyes.
Who by that search shall wiser grow?
By that ourselves we never know.
The little knowledge I have gain'd
Was all from simple nature drain'd ;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my settled hate of vice.
The daily labours of the bee
Awake my soul to industry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
With gratitude infames my mind :
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing protects her care,
And every fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.

From nature too I take my rule,
To fhun contempt and ridicule.

I never, with important air,
In conversation overbear.
Can grave and formal pass for wife,
When men the folemn owl despise ?
My tongue within my lips 1 rein ;
For who talks-much must talk in vain.
We from the wordy torrent fly :
Who listens to the chatt'ring pye?
Nor would I, with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbour's right :
Rapacious animals we hate ;
Kites, hawks, and wolves, deserve their fate.
Do not we just abhorrence find
Against the toad and serpent kind ?
But envy, calumny, and spite,
Bear stronger venom in their bite.
Thus ev'ry object of creation
Can furnish hints to contemplation;
And from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean.”

" Thy fame is just," the fage replies ;
“ Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen,
Books as affected are as men :
But he who studies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws ;
And those, without our schools, suffice
To make men moral, good and wise"

The Road to Happiness open to all Men.
Oh happiness! our being's end and aim !
Good, pleasure, case, content! whate'er thy name ;
That something still which prompts th' eternal figh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die ;
Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies,
O’erlook'd, seen double, by the fool and wise ;
Plant of celestial seed, if dropt below,
Say, in what mortal foil thou deign'st to grow ?
Fair op'ning to some court's propitious fhine,
Or deep with di'monds in the faming nine ?
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnallian laurels yield,
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field ?
Where grows ? where grows it not ? if vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.

Fix'd to no spot is happiness fincere, 'Tis no where to be found, or v'ry where ; 'Tis never to be bought, but always free ; And Aed from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.

Ask of the learn'd the way. The learn'd are blind; This bids to serve, and that to Thun mankind : Some place the bliss in action, some in eafe, Those call it pleasure, and contentment these : Some, funk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain ; Some, swelld to gods, confefs ev'n virtue vain ; Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, To trust in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all.

Who thus define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness?

Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave ; All states can reach it, and all heads conceive ; Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell ; There needs but thinking right, and meaning well ; And mourn our various portions as we please, Equal is common sense, and common ease.

Remember, man, “ the universal cause A&s not by partial, but by gen’ral laws ;" And makes what happiness we justly call Sublist not in the good of one, but all. POPE.


The Goodness of Providence.
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye :
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the fultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountains pant ;
To fertile vales and dewy meads,
My weary wand'ring steps he leads ;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and flow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill;
For thou, O Lord, art with me till!

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